


Sensual Satinalia

by MissCricket



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Blooming Rose, M/M, Satinalia, Volta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:36:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCricket/pseuds/MissCricket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stop pouting sweet thing...” Isabella appeared out of nowhere, wearing a fall of dark wine red satin, that barely constituted a dress. When Anders choked on his drink at her appearance, the pirate flashed him a dagger sharp smirk, “It will be a party no one will forget, of that I can assure you.”</p><p>Hawke allows Isabella and Varric to plan Satinalia and Anders asks Fenris to dance...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sensual Satinalia

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Prompted by Mourici who asked for:
> 
> “I have been itching for Anders shoving Fenris against a wall and kissing the shit out of him not gonna lie”

It had been a lapse in judgement to allow Isabella and Varric to organise a Satinalia party.

Varric’s shrewd business sense and Isabella’s contacts had ensured that the pair had acquired the Blooming Rose to be the location of their party. There had been many uneasy glances around the table when Isabella had gleefully announced this during a game of Wicked Grace. 

“Don’t go overboard,” Hawke had said weakly, aware that as the financier of this party, that the sovereigns might well be just rolling out the door, “I mean make it good, but...not too excessive. Oh Maker this is a lost cause isn’t it...”

He had groaned that last part to Sebastian.

“No cause is too lost in the Maker’s eyes...” Sebastian responded with a predictably pious response, but seeing Isabella lean down to whisper something in Varric’s ear and the two of them smirking, he amended, “Except for this case...perhaps...”

When Anders had entered the room, dressed in a new bronze coloured tunic that Hawke had insisted on buying for him, and a soft, plush coat that he had to resist from stroking, his mouth fell open and he felt Justice slink even further into the depths of his mind.

The front room of the establishment was almost unrecognisable, fitted out with silky satin cloth, shimmering gold gauze and fake, Maker he hoped they were fake, jewels glittering everywhere. It was a sumptuous display of decadence and it seemed the patrons and employees of the Rose had gotten into the spirit of it. 

Anders hadn’t seen so much exposed flesh in years.

A silent plea to Justice and the spirit silently acquiesced, allowing Anders to reach out and snag a shot of some dark liquor that burned on its way down his throat. Feeling more fortified he entered the room, looking around for the people he knew.

The first person who recognised him was Merrill, and he hadn’t recognised her simply because she was wearing one of those fancy corseted negligee’s that the...uh...ladies who worked here fancied. She was ethereal in dark green, and black, green eyes stark in her face. 

“Anders!” she grabbed his hand and he reeled with shock at the sight of her, “Can you believe Isabella managed to organise this?” She saw him looking at her outfit with something akin to shock on his face and beamed, “What do you think?”

“I...find Hawke...” Anders muttered, giving her a vaguely wild sort of smile and extricating himself. 

Nearby he spotted Hawke’s brother, Carver, who wasn’t wearing his Grey Warden armour tonight but had that vaguely discomforted look that many of them got in social situations. In fact he reminded him a great deal of someone...

“Have you by happenchance met Nathaniel Howe?” Anders muttered in the young man’s ear as he passed behind him, “The expression on your face is almost identical to the one he’d be wearing.”

Carver’s sharp expression of shock was as much of an answer as Anders expected and he moved on, smirking, as he took in the faint blush that stained the younger Hawke’s cheeks. Well, maybe Nathaniel had loosened up a little in the time since they’d last met.

Justice perked up at the thoughts of Nathaniel and then subsided into a sulk when Anders hastily assured him the archer was not there.

He made his way over to Hawke and spent the next quarter of an hour comforting the other mage as he muttered about throttling Isabella and Varric.

“Stop pouting sweet thing...” Isabella appeared out of nowhere, wearing a fall of dark wine red satin, that barely constituted a dress. When Anders choked on his drink at her appearance, the pirate flashed him a dagger sharp smirk, “It will be a party no one will forget, of that I can assure you.”

“I said ‘not excessive’,” Hawke reminded her with what would constitute as a pout on a less exalted man, “What part of this is not excessive?”

“I didn’t use real gold and gems in the decoration...” Isabella smirked, “Although it was so tempting....”

Hawke whined softly.

“You’re just grumpy because there’s no one in particular that catches your fancy...” Isabella petted his cheek, “I keep saying, you’re welcome to join me and Merrill...”

“I’m being offered pity shags,” Hawke grumbled to Anders, who was smirking into his goblet, “Can you believe this? I’m the bloody Champion and I’m being offered pity shags.”

Anders laughed, and was about to come back with something that would have been brilliant, he was sure, when movement at the door caught his eye. 

And his mouth dried up.

Fenris stood there, silvery hair clean and gleaming in the subdued, candlelit light, wearing a soft green tunic and black breeches that clung to him like those damn leggings he was so fond of wearing. Beside him Sebastian was flushed and plucking at his own party clothes, turning to go before Fenris’ hand shot out and gripped him in place.

The gesture was clear; you’re not going anywhere.

“Ooh...” Isabella purred into Anders and Hawke’s ears, “Who ordered the tasty treats?”

“You’re with Merrill,” Hawke reminded her, rolling his eyes, “Remember her?”

“Of course I do Hawke, but she does not mind me looking...mmmm..”

Anders eyes had not left Fenris’ form as the elf stalked his way into the room, hand snapping out to grab a full goblet of wine as he went.

“Maker...” Anders breathed.

“Hawke.” Fenris grunted as he walked up to them, customary scowl on his face, despite the blush that stained his cheeks, “This is not what I expected.”

“Isabella organised it...what did you expect?” Anders mouth opened before he could even register that he was speaking,

Fenris’ green eyes turned to him, and Hawke and Isabella sucked in a breath, watching avidly, “I do not recall addressing you Mage...”

“You don’t have to...you’re ‘addressing’ Hawke in a group setting.” His voice curled mockingly around Fenris’ word ‘addressing’ relishing the way those elven eyes narrowed, “It would be impolite to talk to Hawke as though Isabella and I were not here.”

Fenris glared, and turned more to face Anders, “It is not rude to speak to my friend.”

“It is at the exclusion of all others.” Anders retorted, “But what can we expect from...”

“Anders...” Hawke said warningly as Fenris took an aggressive step forward, “Fenris. Enough. Try and get along? At least for one evening? I really don’t want to end the evening mopping one of you up from the floor...”

He looked meaningfully at Anders, who bristled affrontedly.

“What do you mean by that?” he scowled, glaring at Fenris’ small smirk in his direction, “Why do you imply that I would be the one being mopped up?”

“Because you’re a Mage.” Fenris growled back, “I could take you apart with a single strike.”

“You could not!” Anders folded his arms, “Not like I could incinerate you with one good fireball...”

“And that is my cue...” Hawke said, swooping in to wrap a friendly arm about Anders’ shoulders, “Come on Magelet.”

“Magelet!?” Anders squeaked with outrage, as the other Mage steered him away from the Lyrium elf, Justice giving a soft ‘huuu’ of displeasure as the song faded with distance between them.

“You’re so cute.” Hawke patted one of his cheeks and pushed him down into a chair at one of the tables around the outside of the room, “Now Anders, what have I said about antagonising the grumpy elf?”

“He started it...” Anders muttered.

“And he would have finished it too.” Hawke rolled his eyes, “Honestly the two of you. If you could just get past this....magic issue.”

Anders gave him a look.

“I didn’t say it was likely!” Hawke protested.

~*~

Dinner was superb, a meal of delicacies from around thedas, paraded through the room by scantily clad men and women, very attractive scantily clad men and women.

But Anders eyes kept sliding back to the form of Fenris, sitting by Sebastian.

Once or twice he thought he caught the elf looking back, but each time he blinked and the elf was doing something else, either eating or in murmured conversation with Sebastian.

“Stop staring at him,” Hawke advised.

“Shut up Hawke.”

“Don’t blame me when you die then.” 

The fact of the matter was that the golden candlelight gleaming off the red silk that was draped and displayed everywhere and the soft exotic music were creating just the atmosphere of decadence and debauchery that Varric and Isabella had probably intended. Couples were already out in the centre space of the room, dancing to the sensual violin, guitar and drums.

By now Anders had had a number of drinks and it had settled pleasantly in his stomach, loosening his control and making him eye Fenris more thoughtfully than he usually did.

So when a new song began Anders got up with purpose.

“Andraste’s arse...” Hawke hissed, “Anders get back here...”

The mage ignored him and left the table, striding over to stand beside Fenris, who looked up at him warily. Slowly Anders extended his hand.

“Dance with me...”

Fenris blinked at him, “No...”

“Why not?”

“I have no wish to dance with you Mage.” Fenris turned away from him dismissively.

“Are you afraid then?” Anders taunted, honey eyes fixed determinedly on Fenris’ tensing back, “Afraid of being shown up by a Mage?”

“There would be no showing up.” Fenris hissed back.

“Then dance with me.”

Fenris glared at him and Anders stared steadily back.

A snarl and Fenris stood, ignoring his hand as he stalked towards the dance floor. Anders strolled after him, winking at the avidly staring Varric, Isabella, Merrill and Sebastian.

Fenris turned to face him with a scowl and Anders smirked as he rested a hand on the elf’s waist, the other taking the warrior’s hand in his. The lyrium in his skin hummed under his touch, fizzing softly and he felt the effect of it shivering through his body.

He pulled the elf closer and the two stepped with the music, Fenris determinedly not looking at Anders, and Anders taking this time to examine Fenris’ ear, up close and personal.

“I’ve always wondered,” he murmured into it, savouring Fenris’ shiver against him, “Are elf ears very sensitive?”

“No.” Fenris growled back.

“They are, are they?” Anders teases, lips brushing the edge of it and feeling a powerful thrill when the elf melted against him,

“I said no Mage!”

“Your body says differently.” Anders murmured back.

Fenris’ fingers left his shoulder and gave his hair a sharp tug, causing Anders to suck in a sharp breath.

“Not the only one.” Fenris responded, green eyes meeting his.

Neither of them noticed when Isabella slipped over to the musicians, murmuring something to them, neither of them noticed when the music changed to a volta, the dance of seduction, of sensuality, and neither of them noticed when the other couples seemed to melt off the dance floor.

Finally though, the music registered and Anders broke away from Fenris, body stepping back even as his eyes remained locked on Fenris’ own.

Slowly with all the insouciance he could, he bowed.

Fenris eyes burned as he repeated the gesture, minus Anders flourish, the step unadorned but classic all the same. Then they stepped in, one, two, bodies lightly touching, breath brushing their cheeks, as they brushed past one another, turning to keep their gazes locked, the turn and then the arrest and Fenris was there in his arms.

Anders felt a thrill shiver through him and then the two of them were off, gazes locked as though the world ending around them could not tear them apart. They spun and turned, meeting and falling apart, their steps taking them close and far as they danced. Fenris’ fingers brushed his cheeks, his hair feathered against his neck, his hot short breaths tickling his body as the elf moved with him.

Together they danced, no set moves governing them as they swirled around the room, the Volta consuming them, nothing existing in their world except for one another.

Finally the music changed, building towards the climax, and Anders and Fenris came together, fingers touching, only to swirl away and come back in, every time with more of their hands, and then arms touching, the limbs going higher and higher as they spun together, turning away and then throwing themselves back together, higher and higher, closer and closer until the music reached the peak.

And they collapsed into one another’s arms as silence fell.

Anders could feel Fenris panting against his neck, the short breaths fluttering against his heated skin, the silky hair caressing his jaw. His arms were holding him, the lyrium was singing, and so was all of his body, Justice included.

“I need to pray...” Sebastian muttered from nearby; voice a little raspy, “A lot. Til next Satinalia.”

It was enough to break the spell and Fenris stiffened in Anders’ arms, and attempted to extricate himself.

Anders wasn’t having any of it though, and in a moment the pair were upright, the mage steering them out of the crowd and out of the candlelight and into a more shadowed nook.

There he pressed Fenris up against the wall, and when the elf’s breath hitched, he pressed his lips to his in a searing kiss. There was a moment of hesitation, of resistance and then Fenris was melting against him, rough fingers curling possessively into his hair, as their mouths meshed.

Anders hand cupped his jaw, holding him close, the other bracing himself against the wall.

The kiss was rough, it was wild and burning and sensual in that way only animalistic instinct can be. They were tangled together, breaths meshing, mouths meeting, and all Anders could think about was staying this way for as long as possible.

He tugged Fenris with him, the elf pushing him into every wall on the way there to exact his dominating revenge, until they tumbled into one of the empty bed chambers and slammed the door behind them.

Watching them go, Varric and Isabella gave each other wicked, smug, catlike smiles and Hawke pinched his nose.

“If they kill each other tomorrow...I am blaming you.” He informed them.

“Hawke...” Sebastian paused beside the man, on his way out the door, looking dishevelled and a little wild, “Hawke, come pray with me. Now.”

Isabella laughed as the Prince dragged a suddenly unresisting and suddenly smirking Champion out the door and then turned back to Varric.

They exchanged a fistbump and then went their separate ways to enjoy their well deserved revels.


End file.
